


louder louder

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's really only one way to get Louis out of a mood this terrible, and Harry is prepared to sacrifice his entire evening if necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	louder louder

**Author's Note:**

> There were many conversations about Harry rimming Louis until he cries, and then this happened. Also: feelings.

It's been a long, hard day.  
  
They were in studio at seven and Louis was hungover – not terribly, but enough to keep him on edge.  He hasn't eaten much and he's had barely any sleep, Harry knows, and on top of it there were so many fans trying to get at them outside the studio Harry was barely able to walk through them.  Someone pulled Harry's hair rather hard and Louis got angry and turned to snap, but Harry put an arm around his shoulder and whispered, "It's all right, no harm done."  Louis didn't really recover from it, and in the car he scowled and bit out short, annoyed answers to everyone, even Harry.  And then it was raining, and now they're both cold and clammy and uncomfortable.  
  
When they get home Louis goes straight for his room, probably for a nap to sleep off the nastiness, but Harry stops him.  
  
"Why don't you have a nice hot shower and get into my bed?" he asks, and Louis looks back at him over his shoulder for a moment, silent and thoughtful, before he nods.  He knows, by now, that Harry only asks for this under desperate circumstances, usually when Louis's being unbearable.  Harry can take it, but if they're not careful they'll start snapping at each other and then they'll fight and Harry just wants a peaceful night in with his favourite boy.  
  
Harry strips his sopping clothes off and doesn't get in the shower with Louis.  He stays in his own and gets properly warmed up, singing to himself and musing over whether to make a piping hot tomato soup for later, with garlic bread, or whether to order pizza.  As he towels himself he decides on the soup, because he thinks it'll make them both feel better, and makes a mental note to find Louis's favourite blanket, wherever it's got off to in the flat.  
  
Louis is already in his bed when Harry gets out.  He looks as upset as ever, wound corkscrew tight, but Harry loves that he knows he's been a twat all day and wants to fix it.  His face is set in frustrated lines, and his mouth twists when Harry strokes his cheek and nudges his hip to get him to turn over onto his stomach.  
  
"Thank you, babe," Harry murmurs against his neck.  "I love you."  
  
"I love you too," Louis says, because even when he's in the worst mood ever, he'll never refuse to tell Harry he loves him.  
  
Harry begins with a series of kisses down the length of his back.  Louis's skin is so warm and soft – he always seems to have just come in from the sun, and Harry sometimes thinks he carries the sun with him.  His back is sensitive and it's where Harry's hands and mouth tend to go first; it calms him when he's irritated, sends him off to sleep when he's sprawled out on top of Harry, and gets him shivering and ready when Harry's about to fuck him.  He squirms under Harry and lets out a short, sharp breath when Harry kisses his side.  He hates being tickled, but Harry's learnt it feels good when he's hard or getting there.  
  
Louis's usually a bit quiet.  Harry, who is so noisy the other boys sometimes ring him in the middle of the night imitating him as payback for waking them up on tour, understands that Louis won't allow himself to be overwhelmed the way Harry will.  The occasional rare sob from him when he's riding Harry is so good – he tilts his head back and just lets himself love it, and Harry watches and says nothing that might make him bring himself back under control.  Otherwise, he's all shaky breath and bitten lips and clenched hands when he comes, no noise.  Until Harry spreads him out and licks his arse, that is.  
  
"Do you want it?" Harry asks.  It's not just a way to get Louis to admit he likes it, although that's nice too – he really wants to make sure Louis is okay.  
  
"Yes," Louis says, very softly.  "Please."  
  
The _please_ , barely audible, makes Harry shiver and wonder if he needs to do this to Louis more often, if Louis needs to be brought to heel more frequently than Harry notices.   
  
Louis's hips start shifting against the bed almost before Harry gets to his arse.  Harry had seen how hard he was before he turned over – and sighed at his sacrifice, promising himself he'd suck Louis off in the morning to make up for not doing so tonight – and now he's pleased to see Louis's eager, barely restrained little thrusts, impatient to get Harry's mouth on him.  Harry lies flat on the bed, pushing Louis's thighs wide apart, licks his lips, and happily gets to work.

Louis tenses and squirms and moans at first, the sound spilling from him in irregular bursts.  Harry knows he doesn't want to make noise but he has to, and he struggles through it, quivering under Harry's tongue until he finally gives in completely.  Then Harry hears what he's waiting for – the high, choked sound and the trembling sigh of Louis's breath that means he's starting to cry.  The first time Harry absolutely freaked and refused to carry on until he'd properly cuddled Louis out of it, but Louis explained it to him afterward in a halting, embarrassed way, toying with his shirt and blushing and unable to meet Harry's eyes.  "I'm not sad or anything, it's just, like...a release."  
  
And Harry understands, although it's still hard not to stop and hold him, but he's seen how Louis goes from unhappy and brittle and sarcastic to soft and sleepy and sweet after.  Of all the moods in Louis's mercurial repertoire, that's the one Harry thinks of as really Louis – quiet, soft, needing to be touched.  Harry loves that mood and now when he hears Louis starting to head toward it he wants to cheer, and would if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.  
  
He redoubles his efforts, tongue moving in and out, faster and faster, then sucking gently, then in and out again.  It's hard to keep going with Louis rocking forward and back against his mouth, and he uses both hands to still Louis's arse and keep him in place.  He loves to see his own big hands on the delicious roundness of Louis's arse, loves to see the way his skin flushes the longer Harry touches him.  There's no explaining to anyone how brilliant it is to do this to Louis, because he just goes mad.  Harry can usually get him to come twice, once from just his tongue and then once more around his cock, shaking and gasping Harry's name desperately, and he'll be gorgeous and languid and lazy for hours after, cuddling with Harry until they absolutely have to move.  He's beyond pretty then, and all the things Harry loves about his face are more so, his eyes smudgy with pleasure, eyelashes long and dark against his skin, and his lips and cheeks pink and his hair spiky and wild.  Harry keeps him close and just kisses and kisses him because he loves all of Louis so insanely, he's always running out of room to contain it.  
  
Louis buries his face in the pillows and it's nothing like when he cries normally – it's awful then, because when he's upset enough to cry it's very quiet and he goes sort of lost and helpless; Harry hates it and will do almost anything to make it stop – but noisy, shoulders heaving, his breath gulping in and out.  He kneads the sheets hard like he wants to rip them and Harry watches the muscles working in his back, in his arse, in his thighs.  Harry wants to make him really lose it if he can, so he pauses for a moment and spreads Louis's legs a little farther, thumbs digging into the softness of his inner thighs, and laps at his balls.  The angle is difficult but he twists to get one in his mouth and then the other, and Louis is beyond just crying now and is starting to pant out deep sobs.  His thighs are shaking.   
  
 _Almost there_ , Harry thinks, and moves back to his arse, pressing his tongue in deep before teasing with just the tip, and that does it for Louis.  He freezes for a moment before thrusting hard against the bed, tightening around Harry's tongue, and muffles his cries into the pillow.  Harry kneels and pushes at Louis's shoulder until he turns over, before he's even quite finished coming.  He wants to see Louis like this, undone.  It's not something Louis would ever be comfortable with under other circumstances, but he's too far gone to care about his vulnerability right now.  Or maybe in this state he likes it.  Harry knows how that feels; there are lots of things he doesn't like so much when he's not turned on that become his favourite things when he is.  There's a certain spreader at the bottom of one of Louis's drawers that he looks at askance until it comes time to be punished, and then – well.  
  
Louis is a mess, his face wet, still shuddering and crying a bit.  Harry can't stop himself stroking Louis's cheek tenderly, and Louis turns into it.  "Hi, sweetheart," Harry says.  Louis looks like Harry feels sometimes, just drugged with pleasure, absolutely overcome by it.  "Are you all right if I–"  
  
Louis nods vehemently, reaching for him, and Harry pulls away, slicks himself up quick, and slides inside Louis carefully.  Louis is so eager, his cock thick and dark, still hard against his stomach.   He arches into it, biting his lips.   
  
"How does it feel?" Harry asks, partly to centre himself and partly to hear Louis's broken voice.  
  
"I need  more," Louis says, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders and holding on tight.  Harry loves how wrecked he is, how each slow stroke inside him makes him roll his hips and dig his nails into Harry's skin.  When he gets like this Harry can go absolutely crazy on him and Louis will spur him on.  He gets both hands under Louis's arse and grips tight, and fucks him with no mercy, the way he wants it, just drives into him ruthlessly.  His hips slap against Louis's arse, and Louis twists his fingers into Harry's hair and tugs until Harry shivers, goosebumps running over his back.  After long minutes Louis's thighs star to tighten rhythmically around Harry's hips and Harry hooks one arm under his left knee, dipping his head down to suck on the curve of Louis's neck.  It's one of the more sensitive spots on his body, and the position is the one Harry knows feels the best, and between that and the way his cock is sliding wet against Harry's belly it's easy to make him come.  Louis tightens around him, fingers tangling hard in Harry's hair, and goes over the edge with his face buried in Harry's neck, gasping desperately into his ear.   
  
Harry disentangles Louis's fingers from his hair so he can lift his head up, slowing his pace.  Louis, panting, muscles still quivering, watches him from below.  His cheeks are wet still, or maybe again.  Harry cups his face, and when Louis blinks, dazed, Harry kisses his mouth sweet and soft.  He's completely overwhelmed by that kiss, always that kiss.  That's _his_ kiss, the one Louis holds only for him.  He comes with his lips trembling against Louis's, whispering that he loves him, he loves him, he _loves_ him, forever.   
  
"You're so _loud_ ," Niall told them grumpily one morning after a particularly raucous night on tour.  "I know you two are into kinky shit, Louis, can't you gag him?"  
  
"Never," Louis had said, smiling, eyes alight with mischief.  "I love it when he's loud.  I always want to hear what he says."  
  
"He doesn't _say_ anything, he just wails like a banshee," Niall grumbled.   
  
"I do too say things," Harry protested.   
  
"Like what?" Niall asked, and suddenly Harry had turned shy because it was one thing to be talking about his sex noises and quite another to be discussing the things he whispered to Louis in the dark.  
  
"He tells me he loves me," Louis said, still smiling, but all the mischief was gone and he just looked pleased and a little proud, and perhaps a bit puzzled as well.  He reached across the table and stroked the top of Harry's hand, and Niall rolled his eyes but forebore complaining about the noise level after that.  
  
If he hadn't been embarrassed at the time Harry might have told them he just likes to murmur it into Louis's skin, spreading it over him like ink.  There's something about knowing he's pressed his love against the inside of Louis's elbow and both his hips and each of his toes, like he's sent Louis off for the rest of the day with some kind of protection over him.   
  
They turn on their sides and Louis wraps around him like a slow, lazy vine, and they rub noses and murmur lovey things to each other for a while.  Louis is unabashedly romantic after sex and Harry feels like a flower in the sun, basking in his attention, when he gets going.  
  
"You're beautiful," he says, running his fingertips over Harry's eyebrows, and Harry scrunches his nose up and they both smile.  "Funny pretty face."  
  
'"Not as pretty as you," Harry says, and they both consider.  
  
"Not as pretty as Zayn," they both say, overlapping each other and laughing.  
  
Harry kisses Louis's palm and says, "Let's shower and I'll make soup, and we can watch Big Brother, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," Louis agrees, and stretches.  "God, that was good.  I needed it.  You could tell, couldn't you?"  
  
Harry nods, rolling out of the bed.  "Thought I was going to have to finger you in the car to get you to shut up."  
  
Louis, halfway out of the bed, falls back onto it laughing.  "Do it, I dare you."  
  
He raises his eyebrows, teasing, but part of him thinks it would be brilliant to fuck Louis with his fingers in front of everyone so they can see how Louis reacts to it.  They've seen the aftermath enough times, the two of them stumbling out of the toilet with Louis's clothes on wrong side out and the bites on his neck hastily covered with makeup, Harry's cheeks too pink and his eyes too bright.  He wants them to know Harry's not the only one who needs it all the time, that sometimes Louis's the one who says _Harry, please, I have to suck you_.  Next time, he vows, he's going to get Louis in the bathroom, spread his legs, and eat him out right there with the entire band and the producers on the other side of the door.  
  
"Hmm," is all he says, and when Louis smacks him on the arse, he smacks in return and they half-wrestle their way into the shower.  
  
*  
  
Later, Louis comes out of his bedroom in his cosiest sleep pants and one of Harry's shirts, with sleeves long enough for him to grip.  He goes straight for Harry on the couch and burrows into him, not demanding to be held, but requesting with the knowledge that Harry will always, always hold him.  Harry cuddles him tight and strokes the hair off his forehead, sneaks one hand up the back of his shirt and runs his fingers over Louis's skin until he unwinds completely.  It's so hard for him to relax.  Harry loves being the one who can help him do it – loves being the one who takes care of Louis, who always takes care of everyone else.  There's a part of Louis that wants so much to be loved on and babied, an extension of the part of him that wants to be a little boy forever.  Harry doesn't think he's even fully aware that that part exists, and if anyone had ever asked him about it straight out Louis would certainly shut the idea down fast.  But from the first Harry recognised that complicated part of him, in the surprised and pleased and almost shy look on his face when Harry noticed something he liked and made sure it happened.  He's always the oldest and Harry's always the youngest, and perhaps that's why they work so well together:  Harry likes to please and Louis likes to be in charge, but Harry also likes to soothe and Louis needs soothing more than anyone Harry's ever met.  He's not sad – although sometimes he is, inexplicably as far as Harry can tell – he's just so wound up all the time, restless, bouncing on his toes and ready to get on with it.  Harry's favourite moments are when he touches Louis and all that energy, all that focus, all of _Louis_ , goes out toward him.  It's like all the best parts of being onstage and he can't help but light up and marvel over the fact that they've found each other.  
  
"Want me to make dinner?" Harry asks.  
  
"Not yet," Louis mumbles into his chest.  "Gonna sleep I think."  
  
"Mmm," he agrees.  "Do it, babe.  I've got you."  
  
"I know you do.  Got you too," Louis says, and he's almost all the way asleep but he waggles his hands a little in Harry's shirt as if to indicate that he does in fact have Harry.  And, Harry thinks with a satisfied kiss to the top of Louis's head, he always will.


End file.
